Nothing that lives is or can be rigidly perfect; part of it is decaying, part nascent. The foxglove blossom—a third part bud, a third part past, a third part in full bloom—is a type of the life of this world. Ruskin.
Nothing truly can be made mine own but what I make mine own by using well. Middleton.
Nothing venture, nothing win. Pr.
Nothing weighs lighter than a promise. Ger. Pr. 45
Nothing which is unjust can hope to continue in this world. Carlyle.
Nothing will be mended by complaints. Johnson.
Nothing's more dull and negligent / Than an old lazy government, / That knows no interest of state, / But such as serves a present strait, / And, to patch up or shift, will close, / Or break alike, with friends or foes. Butler.
Notre défiance justifie la tromperie d'autrui—Our distrust justifies the deceit of others. La Roche.
Notre vie est du vent tissu—Our life is a web 50 woven of wind. (?)
Notwithstanding this great proximity of man to himself, we still remain ignorant of many things concerning ourselves. Hale.